


To Love and Be Loved

by merthurlocked



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Fluff, Jaskier | Dandelion In Love, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, but he is a nice doppler, but not really, doppler geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merthurlocked/pseuds/merthurlocked
Summary: The Doppler finds the memories of The Bard and thinks that he’ll be his next victim, after all, if he can morph into Jaskier he’ll have access to rich courts and plenty of rich people. He’ll live a life of luxury and have fun messing with the humans.Only when he finds Jaskier, when he comes across him in a tavern singing sorrowfully by himself, no one paying attention to the morose and melancholy bard, he is hit suddenly by this overwhelming desire to touch and hold the bard, to cherish and to love him.
Relationships: Doppler!Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 92
Kudos: 487





	1. Let's Go to the Coast

**Author's Note:**

> So I posted this on tumblr originally as an 'Imagine if' and then people seemed to like it so I added more parts.  
> The first chapter, therefore, is rather small and flows a bit differently than that of the other chapters.
> 
> The prompt: Imagine Mountain Top breakup™ has just happened. Jaskier, heartbroken but willing to obey the last thing his Witcher told him, to leave him and not go looking for him, heads towards the coast to set up a home.  
> Meanwhile, Geralt stumbles across a Doppler who takes his form.
> 
> Also this fic now has fanart created by [ibrithir-was-here](https://ibrithir-was-here.tumblr.com/)

As Geralt is continuing on with his path, picking his way through villages and towns, killing monsters and collecting coin, all whilst heading towards his child surprise, finally understanding he cannot outrun his destiny,  he accidentally stumbles across a Doppler. 

A Doppler who decides to morph into Geralt. 

The fight is nasty, both are injured but the Doppler manages to escape. 

Escapes wearing Geralt's face.

The Doppler now has  _ all _ of Geralt’s memories including those he’s locked away as they were too painful to keep playing in his head.

The Doppler finds the memories of  _ The Bard _ and thinks that he’ll be his next victim, after all, if he can morph into Jaskier he’ll have access to rich courts and plenty of rich people. He’ll live a life of luxury and have fun messing with the humans.

Only when he finds Jaskier, when he comes across him in a tavern singing sorrowfully by himself, no one paying attention to the morose and melancholy bard, he is hit suddenly by this overwhelming desire to  _ touch _ and  _ hold _ the bard, to _cherish_ , and to _love_ him.

And he knows it’s not his feelings, that it’s the real Geralt’s memories overlapping his own, it’s real Geralt’s emotions, but being a Doppler is a lonely life and his especially.

He was cast aside from an early age and he’s never known feelings like  _ this _ before, never felt this intense emotion before, so he’s moving forward towards the bard, his feet carrying him forward without his say so. Being dragged towards him almost by magic, he can’t stop it, doesn’t want to.

Then Jaskier is looking up at him, and  _ gods _ why does his heart suddenly beat so much faster and his breath quicken and his chest tighten? All these emotions are so new and they hurt but he has never felt more  _ alive,  _ more _ human.  _

He decides he likes it.

But Jaskier is looking away, his jaw clenching and his eyes glistening with unshed tears, he’s stopped playing his lute, he’s jumping down from his perch and turning away, walking towards the stairs and walking up them.

The Doppler can’t help but follow, his footsteps louder and faster as he goes to catch up, but the bard is faster, had a head start. He gets to his rented room and goes to shut the door after him, but the Doppler who looks exactly like Geralt is quicker, his foot is in the gap and with inhuman,  _ Witcher _ strength, he’s pushing the door open.

“Why?” 

And Jaskier’s voice breaks as he rounds on him,

“Why are you doing this?” 

And he is pushing Geralt’s body back, his hands clenched into fists as he hits them on the leather-clad chest, but it’s weak. There is no real force behind each hit, and the Doppler doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t have any memories to pull up on and use.

H e’s watching this beautiful man, this talented bard breakdown in front of him, tears staining his cheeks, and he has no clue what to do. 

But then an urge deep within him makes him move his arms around the bard. He moves them to encircle him, pulls him close and then he’s using this strangers voice to soothe,

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m sorry,” his gravelly voice is familiar to the bard. 

The scent of the bard’s hair is strong and comforting, and so he’s burying his nose in it to scent him. The smell seems to soothe the emotions in his own head.

Jaskier is weeping now, his arms clenched tightly around the witcher’s waist, holding on for dear life, and the Doppler _loves_ it.

They stand like that, in this bleak dim-lit room, Jaskier’s clothes and belongings strung about, his lute lying on the floor next to them. They stand, holding each other close, and Jaskier has no clue that who’s he’s gripping tightly  _ isn’t _ his Witcher, isn’t the real Geralt, but right now that doesn’t matter,

And this Doppler? 

He has no fucking clue what’s happening, doesn’t understand all these foreign feelings currently engulfing his entire being, all he knows is that they start and end with this bard.

The most alive he’s ever felt in his long life on this dreadful earth resides in this bard, this young small human. He drinks it in, devours the scent of love and heartbreak and it’s at this moment he thinks maybe a Doppler can want another type of life?

Maybe if this bard, this man, this beautiful earthling, if he’ll let him, they can have a life together.

So, his plan changes.

He is no longer here to obtain and morph into the most famous bard in the continent. He is here to win Geralt’s bard back, keep him all for himself, and to not let him go.

_ Ever _ .

He wants to treat him better than the _real_ _Geralt_ has. Wants to keep this man safe and gift him everything he so desires. He pulls up one of the last memories Geralt has of him and his bard.

_ They’re sat down on a mountain top and Jaskier is talking as always but for once it’s not nonsense that is coming out the bard’s mouth, _

_ Instead, Geralt’s ears are pricked as he pretends to not be listening to Jaskier’s voice. But he can’t quite shake the feeling and the emotion coming from Jaskier, can’t help but notice the quickened heartbeat to his right, can’t help but smell the tiniest bit of fear come from him as Jaskier asks to start again, start anew, go to the coast, together. _

_ And Geralt wishes that he could, wishes that it was that easy.  _

_ But he can’t, witchers aren’t supposed to want a life like that, they don’t  _ deserve _ a life like that, and especially not with a human. _

_ And still, he has Yennefer, and she needs his help, needs someone in her life helping ground her. He can’t leave her. Couldn’t even if he wanted to because of that damn wish he had made.  _

_ He’s made his choice already.  _

_ It had already been decided for him.  _

_ He cannot turn away from her, and Jaskier would be better off without him. _

The memory replaying in his head stops there, and although it was never his to begin with, none of the memories taken from Geralt are his,

He does not care.

He chooses to ignore whatever else Geralt had been feeling in that moment, pushes aside the emotions connected with Yennefer.

And because he’s not truly Geralt, the feelings associated with Yen aren’t quite as strong, whatever had been holding those two souls together has not crossed into him, that type of magic that has bound them does not translate into a Doppler’s magic.

So, instead, he raises his head from the bards hair, uses the new strength in his arms to lift up Jaskier from his slump against his chest, uses his fingers to push up his chin, gets the man to look at his face and says,

“If the offer is still there, I’d love to go to the coast with you,”

And he waits with bated breath for the bard clutching his waist, cheeks pink and stained. Waits for those cornflower blues to look upon him again, waits for those perfectly plump lips to open and for that devastatingly rich and warm voice to answer,

“I’m still angry with you, and I don’t really understand why you’re here right now, but my life’s been shit these past few weeks, I’ve been miserable and _gods,_ I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so fucking much Geralt, so yeah, yeah, _M_ _eliteles_ _tits,_ yes! You can come to the coast with me,”

His voice is cracking and the Dopplers own eyes are shinning too, and then he’s pulling the bard back into a hug, tighter than before, and he’s letting out a breath, relief flooding through him.

He really gets to have this. 

Gets to keep this bard. Gets to actually have a home. He’s not going to be alone anymore. He gets to live a life he never thought he was allowed.

And by the  _ gods _ is he going to try and keep it.

Keep this human being who’s made him feel alive.

He’s going to keep him sheltered and protected and he cannot wait.


	2. A Stranger in my Loves Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doppler Geralt learns how to be a witcher and Jaskier learns how to love another version of his witcher.

It takes a while before they get to the coast. 

Neither has much money, and Jaskier is still wary, still unsure as to why Geralt has so suddenly and unexpectedly come back into his life. 

He really thought that if he were ever to see Geralt again, talk to the witcher again it would be up to him to make the first move. He knew how stubborn Geralt could be and knew how bad he was at communicating his feelings. So to have had Geralt come up to him in the tavern? Apologise and offer up a hug,  _ human contact? _

It was a bit bizarre.

But it was also everything that he needed in that moment of devastation and heartache. He accepted it greedily and tried not to think about how out of character it was for Geralt.

* * *

Things only get stranger.

They are travelling towards a coastal path, getting closer to where Jaskier wants to set up a home when they happen upon several drowners. Jaskier is not scared. He’s seen Geralt kill these beasts a hundred times before, he moves out of the way, and ushers the new horse Geralt had brought with him, and  _ huh, of course, _ he’s still giving all his horses the same name.

And he’s moving Roach out of the way, into a thicket of trees, tying her up securely as he waits for Geralt to oil up his sword and get things ready for the ensuing battle. But when he looks up after tying the knots, he sees Geralt frozen in place, watching the drowners move about, flailing their weird blue-tinged gangly limbs. 

They are a little way ahead of them, by a shallow patch of water, and Jaskier knows they have stopped at a safe enough distance, but if Geralt doesn’t move soon the wind will change direction, pick up their scents and the drowners will smell them out. 

He doesn’t understand why Geralt is locked in place, an immovable force, back ramrod straight. He calls out to him, in a whispered hush,

“Geralt? Are you…okay? Do you need anything else to fight them?”

And then Geralt is swiftly turning back around, gazing steadily into Jaskier’s eyes, mouth opening about to form words, when Jaskier suddenly reaches into the bag strapped on Roach’s back, grasps the necrophage oil and thrusts it into Geralt’s hand,

“You need this yeah?” and Jaskier is smiling up at the witcher.

His eyes are bright, filled with warmth, and the doppler is reminded again of why he chose to  follow  the bard instead of  _ becoming  _ the bard. He takes the oil and searches back through Geralt’s memories. Knows what he has to do as several images re-play in his head, all with the same satisfying ending. 

He oils up his sword, gives the bottle back to Jaskier, notices how their fingers linger a little too long, then he’s turning around again, taking a deep breath as he focuses his attention on the creatures in the water.

Jaskier watches from afar. Flinches when he sees claws get too near, can’t help the little gasps that escape his mouth as he watches his Witcher struggle. He moves forward, determined to help in some way, is a bit unsettled that three drowners appear to be getting the better of Geralt. 

Perhaps Geralt has an old injury that he had not told Jaskier about, and it’s playing up? 

But then he steps on a twig in the ground, and the noise breaks through the din of fighting, four sets of eyes turn around and focus on him, and  _ shit  _ he should have paid attention to where he was stepping. The grotesque smell coming from the creatures gets stronger as they move closer towards another  _ prey _ . Attention redirecting on to Jaskier.  And  _ shit _ but he needs to move now. 

He’s scrambling backwards, falling onto the ground, hands scrambling to find purchase on the rough terrain, and then,  Geralt releases a growl. 

Instantly the witcher is moving quicker, with renewed strength and speed. He’s cutting down the first drowner, its head coming off in one clean sweep, the second drowner turns as its ally gets cut down before it. It lets out a shriek and attempts to claw at Geralt, but he is faster, stronger,  _ better.  _

The doppler finally knows how to control his new abilities, he lets a memory overtake him and ushers out the correct words to spark Igni. The third and final drowner screams as he is set alight in orange flames, burning fiercely. Jaskier is so close he can feel the heat coming off the body, he scrambles further back, watches in amazement and disturbing horror as Geralt re-appears before him, flicking out his wrist with the silver sword, effectively cutting off the screams of the last drowner as its head thuds to the ground. 

Jaskier is once again reminded of how  _ sexy _ Geralt is when in hunting mode.

As if reading his thoughts, the lips at Geralt’s mouth turn up into a smirk, and he’s holding out his hand for Jaskier to take a hold of it, pulling him upright and closer to him. The distance between their bodies is minimal. Their breaths mingling into one as their chests heave to get back under control. 

“Did I do you proud little bard?” 

The doppler has no clue where this nickname comes from, isn’t sure if it is one Geralt has spoken out loud before, if it’s one he has only ever uttered inside his head, or if it instead comes from deep within his own being, it doesn’t seem to matter though, as Jaskier beams up at him.

“I..yeah. You did good my dear witcher. Thank you for saving me again,” then he leans forward and places a quick gentle kiss on Geralt’s cheek and then he’s moving his arms around him, pulling him in for a hug, resting his head against the witcher’s collarbone and shoulder.

The doppler is once again struck dumb with the emotions flooding through his body. Cannot quite wrap his head around them, all he knows is that he loved the feeling of protecting the bard, loved seeing the look of awe and admiration writ across his face.

No one has ever looked at him like  _ that _ before.

He had forgotten what it meant to inhabit the body of a witcher. Forgot that it would mean he would maybe have to use his skills and strength to fight off the monsters of the world. 

But he thinks he is okay with that. Okay with learning how to fight, okay with having to recall and trawl through the backlog of memories Geralt has in order to fight each and every being that tries to hurt this bard.

He doesn’t mind killing monsters, even his own kin if it means he gets to keep the bard safe by his side.

* * *

So, the days and weeks continue like that. As they make their way across the continent getting closer to the sea that Jaskier longs for, he fights and kills creatures that threaten them. Accepts contracts and delivers on them, for the much-needed coin. 

He sits in taverns after each successful hunt,

watches with fondness as Jaskier sits on tabletops and sings his little heart out. Can’t help but smile widely as the bard turns to him and delivers the sweetest, softest lyrics at him. Loves the way the rich velvety voice croons out at him.

Sometimes, when Jaskier has had slightly more to drink when he gets that added alcohol-induced bravery, he sits at Geralt’s table and only ever looks at him when he sings. Loves that for  _ once  _ Geralt seems to enjoy the songs, seems to love the attention. 

He moves closer, his thighs touching Geralt’s hip, and Geralt will place his hand atop the bard’s leg, will stroke  _ once _ ,  _ twice _ , then hold firm, keeping his warm touch there, grounding Jaskier, soothing away the sadness some of his songs bring.

It’s  _ strange _ , this behaviour. 

Jaskier is aware. 

But it’s also  _ not _ so strange,

It feels right. It feels normal. It feels like it’s what they should have been doing for years.

It’s at another tavern, in another village closer and closer to the coast, it’s after another victorious contract, their coin purse fatter than ever, that the doppler decides to close the remaining distance between them. He’s had enough of the built-up tension, that’s just begging to be released.

Jaskier has just finished performing for his rather loud and boisterous crowd of the night, when he comes giggling tipsily onto the tavern table Geralt is sat at. 

He is smiling down at Geralt, cheeks flushed with exertion, hands gripping on to the table either side of his hips as he bends down to lean towards him, about to whisper something into the witchers ears, when suddenly, 

he is yanked off the table, as two large hands encircle his slim waist, pulling him down to sit on Geralt’s lap. Jaskier hastily moves his legs so they are either side of Geralt’s hips and lets out a breathy moan as the witcher uses the power in his muscles to drag him closer still, helping manoeuvre the bard into a more comfy position.

They both let out a breath as they look up into each other’s eyes. Jaskier’s cornflower blues reeling with surprise and his pupils expanding with lust. 

It’s then that the doppler closes the distance. Lets his mouth finally taste what he has been craving all these weeks on the roads, and maybe it’s months or even years? 

His own thoughts and emotions have mixed in with those of the  _ real  _ Geralt’s. He does not know where his thoughts for the bard begin and where they end with Geralt’s own. 

_ He does not care. _

He has never felt more alive than in this moment with Jaskier. Kissing him sweetly and fervently. The bard, as he had suspected, knows how to kiss, knows just where to tilt his head to grant better access to the doppler’s mouth. Tongues are pushing inside and battling for dominance as the kiss turns more passionate. More heated. Jaskier lets out a high pitched keen just as Geralt’s own vocal cords let out a loud groan. 

“We should probably take this upstairs,” Jaskier says, voice horse, lips glistening wetly. Tempting the doppler to press his own back on them, forcing out another sweet moan from him.

“As you wish  _ my bardling _ ,” 

And he hoists Jaskier up, secures his arms around the man’s back, loves the feeling of possessiveness that comes over him as Jaskier’s own legs cling tightly around his hips, arms gripping around the witcher’s neck. He moves them steadily towards the stairs, only stopping when they get a bit of privacy in the stairwell, pushing Jaskier against the wall to kiss him hotly and soundly. Grinds up into the bard’s tight embrace. 

Goes mad at the sounds coming from Jaskier’s mouth. He can’t get over how  _ good  _ this feels, how  _ right  _ it feels. Wants more. Wants everything this man will give him.

He feels a slight bit of guilt wash over him as he remembers that Jaskier doesn’t actually know that he’s not kissing Geralt right now. Feels some of the heat die down in his body as he realises, he really does not like the idea of lying to this bard. 

And he thinks maybe he will tell him, tell him the truth before things go any further. Thinks maybe Jaskier can forgive him. 

_ After all,  _ he forgave Geralt rather quickly after what the doppler knows must have been one of the worst experiences in the bard’s life. Knows that Geralt must have hurt him badly, can see the memory if he so wishes too. Can replay the exact moment Jaskier’s heart breaks on that mountain top. 

And still, Jaskier forgave?

Forgave and allowed who he thought was Geralt back into his life. 

Is letting him kiss him now, is willing and _wanting_ more.

The doppler really does not understand human emotions, does not understand how love works. But he  _ wants _ so desperately to find out. 

He wants this love to work.

So, when they make it into their room, when he’s carefully placed Jaskier down on to the bed. When he’s moved so he’s straddling the bard’s hips, he says, 

“I need to tell you something,” and he’s stroking his hand down the bard’s cheek, thumb swiping over the soft skin. His eyes are begging Jaskier to see and to understand, begging him to realise he’s not really Geralt but he wants to be here in this moment with Jaskier all the same.

Jaskier’s eyes shine back and there’s a brief flickering of understanding before it’s clouded over with a sort of sadness, 

“If it’s going to hurt me can you tell me after, please? Can I just have this moment here with you, just like this?” his voice is quiet, his hands have loosened their hold on Geralt’s hips, but his eyes are still focused and looking imploringly into the dopplers own. Asking him to continue on as though nothing has changed between them.

And well if this really is going to be the last time the doppler gets to be looked at lovingly and adoringly by his bard,  _ by his sweet little bird, _ then he too is going to take what he can get. 

They’re eerily the same, him and Jaskier. 

Both just want to be loved and adored, both want somewhere to call home and someone to call their own. 

The doppler nods, his head moving forwards, white strands of hair moving in front of his face. Jaskier with a delicate finger brushes them behind Geralt’s ear and strokes his hand down the witcher’s neck, moving to hold and pull him forward. Closing the distance between their lips once again. 

Come morning the doppler will have to sit and tell Jaskier the truth. Reveal his secret.

For now, there are only soft moans and panting breaths, discarded clothes and rumpled sheets. 

Heavy warm bodies moving against one another. The release of all that pent up tension and the faint sounds of snores as they curl up against each other, sweat drying as they fall into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys, hope this chapter flowed better.
> 
> If you enjoyed or have an constructive feedback, it's more than welcome :)


	3. Somewhere to Call Home and Someone to Call their Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt stumbles across the Doppler, living in his body and living out the life he never thought he could have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter now has wonderful fanart created by the even more fabulous ibrithir-was-here  
> [Thank you ibrithir](https://ibrithir-was-here.tumblr.com/)

“I’m not who you think I am,” the words are whispered over sleep-warm skin as the doppler in Geralt’s body strokes a slow path down Jaskier’s naked back. 

He’s on his side in their shared bed, one elbow pressed into the straw mattress, head leaning in hand as he gently brushes his other over the bare body lying beside him. Running fingers tenderly through the short, soft, brown curls at the nape of the bard’s neck. 

A sigh, then, 

“I know. I’ve known for a while.”

“Oh,” and the doppler looks confused, his amber eyes scrunching up, “Why wou- _how_ come you’re still here then? With me?” 

He doesn’t understand, doesn’t get why this bard would willingly carry on travelling with someone who’s masquerading as someone they love. Taking the form of someone they have known for twenty-two years of their life. 

“Because I know,” and Jaskier’s head is resting in the gap between forearm and elbow, head tilted to look at the doppler as he speaks, a soft smile etched on his face.

“Know what?” The dopplers hand has stopped moving and is now just a gentle press against the bard’s skin.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” and Jaskier lets out a little exhale as he braces himself for the next part, “I know you’re not _him._ Could never be _him,_ but still, you chose to- to stay, to stick around,

and at first, I thought maybe you were here just to taunt me, to try and kill me or, _I don’t even know,_ to do something decidedly not good to me. But then the days turned into weeks and then months, and somewhere along the way I realised your intentions were the same as mine.”

Jaskier reaches out, cups the witcher’s cheek, idly stroking back the few strands of hair trying to cover his eyes.

“What are my intentions?” he asks.

“To love and protect. To _be_ loved and protected in return.”

“Hmm,” and the bard lets out a jolted puff of air at this noise, at the sudden reminder of the man he loves but is not there. Not actually in this bed with him right now, like he wants. 

But then he thinks it doesn’t really matter. 

He’d accepted early on that he would not have Geralt in the way he wanted him, thought that perhaps the tales were true and witchers couldn’t really love the same way as humans, and then they met that witch and he knew the tales were wrong, that it wasn’t that Geralt couldn’t love the same way, he just didn’t love _him._

It had _hurt,_ that realisation. 

Still, he had shouldered the pain well, determined to be there for Geralt as his friend if nothing else. He’d take whatever comfort and touch he could get. And when his friend, the man he’s been following around for more than two decades, wishes him gone from his life, gone as though he were never there to begin with? Of course, he’s going to do that. Carry out that wish. He loves him. 

He will _always_ love him.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t selfish though. Doesn’t mean he won’t take something if it’s presented to him on a shiny silver platter, in the form of the man he loves, with the same voice, same skill set, same strength, same memories, same _everything._

This new Geralt makes an appearance in his life and just like with the real one he could never be the one to walk away from him. _No,_

they’ll have to be the one walking away, asking him to leave before he would ever even contemplate the idea.

“I’ve lied to you. I’ve hurt you.” The gravelly voice breaks the silence.

“Are you going to hurt me again?” Jaskier asks in contemplation, already knowing the answer.

“No! No, of course not. I don’t want to. I never want to hurt you. You’re-” and he cuts himself off, scared to be revealing something he’s kept locked inside for years, never uttered aloud to anyone else before

“Go on. It’s okay, I’m here, I’m listening,” another gentle touch, a soothing caress as both men brush and touch each other’s bare skin. Grounding each other in this moment.

“You’re everything I have ever wished for. You’ve brought back dreams of mine I thought I had long since buried, brought back desires I had long since thought had burned themselves out. I want a life with you. I never thought that a possibility before.”

The doppler watches as a tear rolls down the bard’s cheeks, and his chest tightens because he didn’t mean to make him cry. He pulls Jaskier closer to him, wrapping strong arms around the man, letting out a breath of relief as he feels puffs of laughter come from the bard’s mouth.

“I’m fine, you’re just speaking out loud things I’ve always wanted to hear.” and Jaskier’s voice is happy, if a little melancholy.

They stay like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other. Both revelling in the feeling of love and tranquillity. 

* * *

They make it to the coast, and Jaskier has got them a little cottage by the sea, and he knows that this Geralt is slightly different, both know it’s not the same witcher that Jaskier fell for, but it doesn’t matter.

This new, more profound closeness he has with the witcher?

_It pleases him._

And it’s everything he has ever wanted from him, everything he wanted but never thought he could have.

And the Doppler is loving his new life, loving being the bard’s muse, loves how _loved_ he feels by just being in the presence of this strange and wonderful human being. He has started to really appreciate humans, started to understand their strange nuances and the weird things that they do. 

He gets why they burrow beneath blankets at night, sharing warmth and whispered secrets with smiles and waves of adoration. He gets why they get up in the morning and carry on with their dull lives, preparing food, stitching old clothes, collecting flowers, talking to neighbours, sharing music in taverns and insignificant details of their life. 

He finally understands _human connection,_

and what it’s like to be part of a _family._

His time spent in Geralt’s body awakens his desires, _re-awakens_ dreams he had once had when he was younger, 

Brings back memories of his youth when he was learning about _his kind_ and what they do. He is taken back to those lessons, the lessons that made him follow and stalk and watch humans from afar, the lessons that taught him to keep hidden and out of sight.

Remembers being told off for wandering too close, remembers being berated whenever he opened his mouth to reveal the desires he felt to be touched and loved like the humans he had spent countless hours watching, the humans who made him feel things his kind weren’t supposed to.

He has always been an odd Doppler, the black sheep in the pack has never mixed well with his kind. They did not understand him nor did he understand them and their intentions to harm humans. 

_But,_

his kind when young die without their pack, they have to learn the lessons put upon them, they have to take it all in so that they can harness their powers properly, if successful they leave and they take their first human victim and they integrate themselves into the human world and thus begins their vengeful life. 

They once had their own bit of the continent but when human settlers came and hunted them down they had to find their own way to survive. 

Taking a humans form worked well. 

It meant they could fit into society, hide what they truly were and take sweet revenge on those who had wanted to rid the world of them. They bring their children up, hidden away from human eyes and teach them the ways of their magic, teach them how to morph and why they do it. Teach them to carry on their _ways._

And he knows all this, knows why his kind are the way that they are, but he doesn’t understand why they haven’t just accepted what happened to their ancestors all those years back, accepted it and moved on. His kind are still hunted, killed mercilessly when they get found. 

But it’s only because the games they play are not liked by humans, the havoc they reek scares them, and they lash out in the only true way humans know how; they torture and kill and _purge._

When he’s young and still has dreams that have yet to be beaten out of him, yet to be scorned at. He hopes and dreams of a time when dopplers and humans can live peacefully together, as one. 

Yet, that time is not now. 

Instead he is forced to learn the ways of his kind, he grows bitter and wary, the lessons taught slowly start to sink in. He becomes a good student but there is something in him still, that does not allow him to completely turn away from his desires.

And when he is old enough to morph into the first human being, he leaves. 

Leaves his kin behind.

If he is being completely honest, they push him out. He is too different and doesn’t fit into their mould. He becomes a solitary traveller, using different morphs and taking different forms. He learns about humans but still, he has no connections to them, no family, no kin.

He is on his own.

And whilst he does commit some sins, does kill some humans, he takes none of the same pleasure that his kind had seemed to.

He does what he has too, to survive, and he grows an appetite for the richer and the more luxurious filled lives. He _wants_ to have their connections and their money and their riches. 

He stumbles across Geralt by accident. Both on their own path, heading in different ways. He sees the bulk of the man, sees the swords on his back, relishes in the idea of having the same strength and commanding aura this man seems to have. 

If he can just get close enough to swipe at the man, get some skin cells under his fingertips, he can morph into him. No one needs to get hurt. But he is prepared in case they do. Most people do not take kindly to seeing their body being used and reflected back to them, and this man looks like he could evenly match the doppler.

So he needs to be careful.

_He isn’t._

But neither is the _Witcher_ and okay he really should have paid more attention to who he wanted to morph into. Being a witcher is just like being a doppler in their true form. An outcast from society. 

And when he’s running away from the man, escaping his clutches, he thinks quickly about where he can find his next transformation. Hopes he’ll come across some unsuspecting fool on the forest paths, or maybe a small pack of bandits, anyone who’s _human,_ so that he can successfully navigate himself back into society.

But then he’s looking deeply into the witcher’s memories and finds a place in the man’s mind that’s shrouded in pain, dark and kept back, kept away from the rest. The taste of bitter guilt reaches his tongue as he opens up the memories. 

A human being dressed in ridiculously bright, expensive clothes, a loud voice full of life and passion, a body that never seems to tire or still, a pretty lute being played by even prettier hands, a soothing voice that seems to warm his insides. 

He thinks that is what he’ll be next. 

* * *

Needless to say, the doppler does not become Jaskier. 

He takes him, sure. But only because the bard is so wonderfully willing. 

He meets Jaskier and his whole world upheaves itself. He’s brought back to his youth where he wanted more out of life, his desires brought back full force.

And perhaps it’s because of the overwhelming emotions that had radiated through Geralt’s mind and memories upon seeing the bard. Perhaps he has Geralt to blame for the emotions being so powerful and deep that they had transferred into his own being.

But he does not care.

His mind is made up and he has come to love the bard in his own way too. 

* * *

They settle into an easy life, 

Jaskier sometimes looks at him in wonder, in confusion, stands too close to the door as he watches him leave to fulfil a contract in nearby villages. It’s in those moments the doppler aches a little, watching the forlorn expression on his lovers face. Hates that he puts it there, hates that he is simultaneously a bad memory for the bard but also the one thing keeping him happy.

They both still need to make coin. They do what they can to survive in this little patch of earth they have carved out for themselves. But they can’t hide away from the world. 

Jaskier still loves to sing and compose, so he too goes off on his own little adventures. Plays for rich courts and sings loudly in small taverns. Sometimes Geralt comes with him, other times, when money’s too tight he stays at home to help out in their village. Helping clear the lakes of drowners, the wells of wraiths, the forests of wolves. 

They make do. They live, 

and they _love._

* * *

It’s maybe just over a year of the two living together, sharing in each other’s company, enjoying the quiet domestic life neither thought they would ever get when it all comes to a screeching halt.

They’re sat in the small room directly looking out onto the seashore, Jaskier curled up on their sofa, his back pressed firmly against Geralt’s chest, his feet tucked up underneath him, his head resting in the crook between Geralt’s shoulder blade and neck. Face turned inwards, inhaling the warm spicy scent of his lover. 

The other man has his arms wrapped around the bard, cradling him close, eyes shut, enjoying listening to the waves and crashes of the sea, loving the sound of the wind whistling through the tiny gap of their windows. When his ears suddenly prick, the sound of small twigs and little shells crunching under heavily booted feet.

He inhales a short gasp of air, as he realises with dread just _who_ he can hear walking up their front path. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been waiting for this moment. Knew in all honesty that at some point the man whose form he had taken would come back for him, would want to find him and get rid of him.

And if the said man knew he’d taken his bard? Knew he had successfully navigated and manipulated his way into the bard’s heart? Well he had the witcher’s own memories and thoughts in his head, he knew exactly what the man was capable of, knew exactly what the man would want to do to him.

Still, he thought he would have had a bit longer before this moment arrived.

His tenseness is not overlooked by Jaskier, the man stills in his grip and asks,

“What is it? What can you hear?” and his voice is quiet, trying it’s best to not show any fear, patiently waiting for him to be reassured and soothed. Trusts the dopplers judgement.

“I’m not sure,” he lies. “I’m going to go out front and check-” He says as he carefully detaches himself from the bard’s grip, stands up, “-stay here and don’t come out.”

He walks steadily towards the front door, breathes in then out, bracing himself for what he’s about to face. He can hear movement behind him, and sighs, knowing that Jaskier would never listen to his demands of safety, so he closes the door connecting the lounge to the hallway behind him. Puts more space between them, reaches the front door and turns the knob.

Geralt is standing there, by their gate, cutting a sharp, looming figure in the clouded skies. He is yet to open the gate and walk down the cobbled pathway, but his hand is resting atop it, ready to do just that. 

A low warning growl is emitted into the tense silence raining down on them.

“It’s _you!_ ” The words are snarled through sharp teeth, amber eyes burning with recognition and hatred into the dopplers figure. “What have you done with him?” The witcher demands.

A snort then,

“Huh, _now_ you care about him?” The doppler steps forward, onto the garden path, then stills, plants his feet evenly apart, back blocking the front door.

Geralt watches this, glowers at the man, breathes in deeply but then his nostrils flare as he recognises that heady scent that he hasn’t smelled for years and his heart, _aches._

“I can smell him _all_ over you.” The words are barely heard over the snarl coming from deep within him.

“Well, when you’re living in such close quarters, sharing space, food, clothes-” and his eyebrow lifts as the dopplers mouth forms a smirk “-sharing _a bed._ You’d expect to smell like one another, no?” and he tilts his head, relishes in the low growl that’s released by Geralt at the word bed. 

Geralt’s grip on the gate is rigid now, his tendons and veins showing through, his other hand is edging back behind him, readying itself to grab his weapon.

“I don’t know what your aim is here, what _game_ you’re playing, but it stops here. And it stops now!” With those words uttered, Geralt’s right hand in one quick movement is grabbing his silver sword and his left foot is kicking open the cottage’s gate. 

He’s skulking forward, back bent inwards, sword in front ready to strike, feet planting themselves on the cobbled stone. His toes take most of his weight as he prepares himself for what he expects to be an easy fight.

The other Geralt, the doppler, the creature that has stolen his identity, used and abused his memories, gained access and manipulated himself into _his_ bard’s life, he’s just standing there. 

As still as a statue, his face set in a frown. 

And it’s beyond strange to see his reflection, a carbon copy of himself standing not two feet away, wearing similar clothing, hair tied back in what looks to be one of Jaskier style of plaits, and _gods_ his heart lurches at that observation. 

He curses himself for not coming to find Jaskier sooner.

Can’t believe how stupid, how unbelievably foolish he’s been. Jaskier has been gone from his life for nearly two years, and it’s not the longest time they haven’t seen each other, but it’s the longest time _knowing_ he wouldn’t see Jaskier again. 

That day on the mountain top he had wrongly lashed out on the bard, hurt him in such a way, he knew there would be no coming back from it. Knew with those harsh and blunt words spoken he’d lose his bard for good. _Never to be seen again._

Because why would Jaskier come looking for him after he’d said all that? Why would the one person who put up with him and all his bullshit come back to him after he had so thoroughly and heartlessly told the bard to fuck off? Wished for him to have never been in his life at all.

Gods, why was he like this? Why did he hurt people and push them away?

_Because Witcher’s don’t deserve love, we’re not there to be equals, we’re made and taught to fight monsters and collect coin. We’re good for fighting, not loving._

A voice sounding suspiciously like his old witcher teacher, Vessimer, cuts through his trail of thoughts. Geralt shakes his head, refocuses on the task at hand. It doesn’t matter what led him here, to this quaint little cottage by the sea. 

What matters is that Jaskier seems to be alive and well, but in danger. In danger because of _his_ mistake. If he had killed that doppler, not let him escape, Jaskier would be safe and sound. Not here, being manipulated into believing something that’s not true. A facade. 

He just hopes he’s made it in time.

He inhales deeply, filling his lungs with air and oxygen, breathes in the faint sweet scent of chamomile and cedar and whatever else it is that makes up the smell of Jaskier, breathes it in as it helps to ground him. 

The doppler might not be reaching for his own sword, might not look to be getting ready to fight, but it doesn’t matter, Geralt is doing this _for_ Jaskier. He steps forward, right arm striking out, about to slice into the figure that’s stolen his form, when,

“No! Wait, st-stop. Please-” the front door of the cottage is crashing back as Jaskier flings himself in front of the doppler, in front of the silver sword now dangerously close to Jaskier’s neck, his arms are stretched out in a hold fire gesture.

Geralt frowns but moves his sword away from Jaskier’s face, blood pumping through him, adrenaline high, emotions keyed up, all ready to fight but something in him seems to break at seeing the bard in person again. He can’t help the warm rush of emotion that fills him at seeing his bard safe and untouched. 

“Don’t hurt him please, he’s done nothin-” his pleas are drowned out as Geralt speaks over him.

“Jaskier that’s not who you think it is okay? He’s not me. He’s a Doppler, he took my form and he’s used it to manoeuvre himself into your life, and I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry if he’s taken advantage of you if-” he’s cut off as Jaskier rushes in to explain,

“I know what he is Geralt. I’ve known for a while now. He told me.” And Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up, his frown deepens, his heart sinks,

“What..then why are you-” but he’s cut off again as the bard continues talking,

“And he’s not taking advantage. Everything he’s done, I’ve wanted him to, I’ve been a willing partner in all this.” Jaskier turns his face away at this admission, a look of guilt crossing his features, not sure he wants to know what Geralt’s face looks like right now. 

“He is safe with me, I haven’t hurt him,” and the doppler reaches out with his hands and pulls Jaskier’s body against him, keeps one hand firmly on the bard’s waist as the other rests by his side. 

Geralt watches this exchange sees how Jaskier’s body seems to drain slightly of tension as if he is comforted by the mere presence and feel of the doppler’s body behind him. _And did he used to do that with him, back when the bard was_ his _and not the interlopers?_

His own hand falls to his side, goes slack as he begins to understand what’s happening here.

“You know he’s not me, you know what creature he is and still, you’re just letting him into your life?” Geralt’s voice nearly breaks at the last word, can’t quite hold back the emotion clouding his mind right now. 

And Jaskier looks back up at this, his eyes wide and face pale as he watches emotions flick over Geralt’s face. He can see the confusion, the hurt, the _longing?_ As Geralt’s own eyes drift to the arm slung around the bard’s waist.

“He wanted me in it.”

And _ouch,_ but fuck that hurts. 

Geralt winces, his mind reeling. But he thinks _‘that’s fair’_ , it makes sense. Geralt did little to show the bard how much he wanted him in his life. Didn’t openly say any words that would put the bard’s mind at rest. Never told him how much he appreciated him, how grateful he was to have a companion by his side for all those years. 

In all honesty, he thought Jaskier knew, thought that he was able to see through Geralt’s walls and decipher his words, find the hidden meanings in them. And maybe he was, he must have been to have stuck with him, by his side all those years. 

But obviously, it just wasn’t enough.

That day on the mountain top, the hate-filled words wrongly directed at him, they had obviously caused a bigger drift between them. A drift that Geralt has no hopes of ever repairing. 

He had thought coming here today, that he would kill the imposter, save Jaskier’s skin once again and maybe, just maybe he could have offered up an apology. Asked the bard if he wanted to come with him. Meet up with Ciri and…

And he doesn’t know, he realises. 

He hadn’t put any more thought into it than that. Just wanted to help his friend out and to see him again. Ciri had begged him to go looking for him after she’d put two-and-two together. After she realised the same bard she saw growing up and paying in her Grandmother’s Courts was the same bard who had wormed his way into Geralt’s heart. 

Burrowed himself there. Made a warm soft nest and tied it securely and tightly in place.

As if sensing his thoughts Jaskier broke the silence,

“Why did you come here? Why now?” His head is tilted forwards, brows furrowed.

“Ciri and I overheard in a tavern-” 

“Cirilla? Princess Cirilla? You met up with your Child Surprise then?” There’s a look of respect now on Jaskier’s face, lips forming into a small smile.

“Yes. We found each other, I realised I should stop trying to run away from my destiny” is his grunted reply.

“Where is she?”

Jaskier’s body moves slightly as he tries to see past Geralt’s form as if he had been hiding the small child behind his back the entire time. The doppler moves with him, making his presence known. Keeping a firm hand on Jaskier. Geralt thinks it’s a bit _possessive._

“She’s not here-” and before Jaskier can ask he answers with “-she’s safe. I can’t reveal where because people are after her, after me. But she’s safe and I’m taking her somewhere safer. I’m looking after her.” He rushes out, wanting the bard to understand why he can’t say where. 

That it’s for the girl’s own safety and _not_ because he doesn’t trust Jaskier.

“I knew you would… _find_ her that is. And of course, you’re keeping her safe, you’re Geralt of Rivia, the famous white wolf.”

And gods he really doesn’t understand Jaskier, or how he can still have any faith in him, but the bard’s words and the smile to go with it loosens something in his chest. Some tension he didn’t know he was holding in regards to Ciri and his ability to keep her safe, leaves his body. Relief and warmth seep in to fill the gaps leftover. 

It figures that all it takes is one sentence uttered by Jaskier and belief in himself rises.

“She said she loved your music, growing up, won’t stop singing one of your songs,” he reveals, his own smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh? Did you join her in the singing?” Jaskier’s voice is lighter than before, the nerves gone from it.

“I told her she needed to get a better taste in music” and this is weird, the way the banter between them eases back like it never went away, as if it could never truly disappear. The connection between bard and witcher is too strong, too deep, too tightly tied around one another.

The doppler who had been strangely quiet during this exchange goes stiff. Stands more upright and pulls Jaskier even closer to him. He brings his other arm around the bard not wanting to let go of him. His face betrays the worry he feels, can’t quite hide how shook up he is by Jaskier and the witcher getting along.

_What if Jaskier chooses the witcher over him? Goes back to the real Geralt now that he’s come for him?_

The doppler feels happiness bleed out of him. Feels the air around him grow colder, the sky grow darker. He doesn’t notice as Jaskier turns his face upwards, seeking out the doppler’s eyes, as his own are staring off into the distance. His mind stuck in thought.

“Hey?”

Jaskier’s voice is soft as he turns in the dopplers grip, his mouth comes closer to his ear as he whispers into it,

“It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need to worry.” And the bard is smiling at him now, trying to reassure him.

“You’re not?” he gulps, lips barely moving as he grounds himself in Jaskier’s stare. The bard’s hand comes up to gently stroke his cheek, tucking away the strands of hair that the wind is whipping around his face. His touch soothes and helps to quieten to storm brewing inside him.

“No, I’m staying here, right where I’m needed.”

“And wanted,” he can’t help but add, not meaning it to be a dig at the other Geralt, but wanting Jaskier to _know_ that he is wanted here with him. That he chooses him. 

Jaskier smiles but it looks slightly sad, his blue eyes glancing down and away. He turns back round in the dopplers arms. Puts his hands over the ones holding him in place, rests them atop, leaning back once again into the man’s touch. His next words are directed at the Geralt two feet away from them.

“If all you’ve come for is to check on me, then as you can see, I am perfectly safe. And this doppler here, _my_ doppler-” the arms holding him squeeze tightly around him at this “-is no danger to me or anyone else for that matter. He wants this life here with me, and…well, I’m happy.” He gazes imploringly at Geralt, hopes the man gets it. 

And Geralt does. 

His bard deserves happiness. And if this doppler is doing that, providing him happiness. Then Geralt is not going to take it away. Even if the wolf inside of him _screams_ at him to take back what’s his, demands he stays put and fights off this creature. Not leave until he has Jaskier’s hand in his own, the bard’s heart back in the nest it had created inside Geralt’s own chest.

But he can’t do that.

Cannot be the cause of any more heartbreak. Cannot cause any more damage to their already strained and fractured relationship. If Jaskier is happy by this doppler’s side, happy and content living his life out here by the sea. And if there is no longer any room for himself to be by the bard’s side, then he shall leave.

 _After all,_ he’s used to it. Used to being the one leaving. 

He nods at the bard, at the figure wearing his face, standing behind him, 

“Then I’m happy for you.” 

He breathes in deeply, savours the sweet comforting scent of Jaskier, recognises his own scent is mixed in there with the bard’s own. And he doesn’t know how he’s going to forget that. His heart beats a fast rhythm as he realises it’s a smell he wishes was coming back with him. 

Then he breathes it all out. 

Turns away from the two men wrapped around each other. Turns away from their little stone cottage, decorated in yellow and white flowers. He opens the gate and walks forward, away from the bard that was once his. 

Walks away from the only person that ever willingly chose to stay by his side.

He can only hope that this is not the end, that he will get to see Jaskier again someday.

Hopes that it will be _his own_ arms and _hands_ wrapped around him.

It’s not over, 

_not yet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you soooooo much for reading.


	4. On Rocky Shores I Wait For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rumour spreads and Geralt needs closure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, this is the end.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments. You guys really are awesome!   
> I hope I don't break too many hearts with this last instalment.

The wind was roaring in his ears, with the bitter sting of salt-water hitting his cheeks as Roach pounded up the steep hill towards the small building in the distance. The cold, almost frozen ground was easy for Roach to navigate across, but it tired her out quicker than soft dirt trails. Her legs unused to being forced to withstand the shock of the impact when foot meets grounds more harshly. 

Geralt is guiding her steadily closer towards the stone cottage, to where he knows he’ll find the answers to the questions that have been plaguing his mind for the past couple of days. He was perhaps riding her a bit too hard, forcing her to streak through uneven terrain and bitterly cold weather, but he knew the girl would forgive him, when she realised just where he was going and the reasoning behind it.

“Nearly there now girl,” he whispered close to her ear, bent forward as much as possible on the horses back. Trying to limit as much friction between him and the air as possible.

The steep climb began to even out and the sight of the cottage that he had only seen once before, nearly five years ago now, came closer into his view.

There were no lights on as he had expected, but still somehow a small drop of hope he hadn’t realised he was holding began to trickle out of him.

As he reared his horse closer to the cobbled path that would eventually lead to the small wooden gate attached to the cottage’s garden, dread settled in his stomach like a led weight. He slowed Roach down, and swung his legs over her side, gripping hold of her reins, leading her towards the gate and tying them securely to it. He knew she most likely wouldn’t disappear. Normally for a small visit somewhere he’d leave her loose and if she had drifted too far away all he had to do was whistle and she would come running. But he didn’t know how long he was going to be. 

In all honesty, he hadn’t planned for himself to stay long, but now that he was here, looking up and out onto the little home his bard had set up for himself, he didn’t know if he’d be able to leave. Not straight away at least.

If this was the last place his bard had been, _if this was the last place his bard had been alive,_ then he wanted to soak up what little was left of his presence here.

It had only been what, three days ago? Maybe four? Since he had found out that the man who had slotted so easily alongside Geralt’s side, the man who had spent twenty-two years of his life on and off, going on adventures and monster hunts and crusading through taverns and towns alike, that the man Geralt had fallen in love with but who he had never uttered those words to, was dead.

Was gone.

Wiped off the earth like he was never there to begin with.

And Geralt had never had the chance to tell Jaskier what he meant to him.

He had been sat in a tavern when he’d heard an overeager bard begin to sing a song that he knew all too well. Knew the words belonged to another. That the beautifully, cleverly crafted lyrics and lute strumming was created by someone else. Someone with far more wit and talent than this guy seemed to have. 

The recognisable song wasn’t the only thing that had caught his attention though.

Not long after the bard began to play, patrons in the tavern who had been wearing hats, took them off and held them between their hands. Everyone else in the bar also seemed to duck their heads down slightly, with some people’s eyes even closing. The low murmurs and chattering that had only moments ago filled the room now faded out, so that only the low hum of the bard could be heard. His words crisp and clear but pitched low over the notes on the lute’s strings.

_Wasn’t this something humans did when a loved one or a person of notability had passed? Wasn’t this meant to be a sign of respect for that person?_

Geralt would be lying if he said he never thought about Jaskier. Would be lying through his teeth if he said his mind had never strayed down memory lane and focused heavily onto the happier times when Jaskier was by his side.

That was not to say his life had been complete shit these last few years. He had Ciri with him now after all. His child surprise. And she was his. He was treating her as if she were his own, and he loved her. Truly loved her.

Seeing Jaskier with a version of himself, seeing that Doppler in his form, getting a life that Geralt probably _had_ wanted a long time ago but knew he’d never get, well it had opened up something inside of him. Released whatever hold he’d had on his emotions, released it and let it go. He walked away from that cottage three years ago and promised himself to never again love someone and not tell them that he loved them.

He’d already lost his chance with Jaskier. Though he hoped that one day he would be able to reach out and find his bard and tell him the truth of his feelings. He couldn’t allow himself to continue keeping parts of himself hidden. Not if it would hurt Ciri. She deserved to be loved and told that she was loved.

Just like Jaskier had done.

And now sitting here in this tavern, sat right in the back hidden away in the shadows, drinking obvious watered-down ale and watching what felt like the towns entire population cheers and chink their glasses as the bard finished the song.

He realised he’d missed his chance.

His entire world seemed to stop. His mind went blank. His hands dropped to his sides going limp as he just sat there. In the tavern by himself. Ignored the low rumble and chatter as the patrons went back to talking and drinking. Their lives continued on now that they had shown their respect. The bard was gone but that didn’t affect them. Not really. They already had a new one singing and filling their world with music.

But _Geralt?_

His world was tipping on its head. The silence in his mind now reeled back, letting in all the memories he’d kept at bay. Jaskier’s face and his smile and his voice all came stampeding through his brain. His heart lurched at the warmth the memories brought before suddenly being doused with ice-cold water. 

His bard was _gone._ The memories stung.

He stood up abruptly, re-adjusted his hood to hide his face and hair even more. Couldn’t afford to be seen as he made his way out of the tavern. He had come specifically to this town in the hopes he may have heard some news of the bard that used to be his. Hoped that he would hear new songs or new stories that could only have been told by the masterful poet.

He hadn’t thought for a second he’d find news that could only point to the bard’s demise.

This evidence wasn’t enough for him though. As he rounded the corner of the tavern, heading towards Roach, he stumbled across a drunkard. Perhaps if he asked this man what had happened. Maybe he would say that Jaskier had just simply stopped singing, stopped playing music. _Had retired._ That could possibly explain the people in the tavern’s behaviour. They had respect for the bard and were sad that they no longer would hear his music for he had given it up.

 _Yes. That could be it,_ Geralt thought. 

He needed to make sure that was it. He walked closer to the man flailing his arms and pitching forward on his feet. He could smell the booze coming off him in strong waves. His nose twitched and his face wrinkled. He needed to be careful.

This town was very close to the town where Jaskier had set up his life with the doppler. The doppler who still presumably wore his face. _If_ Jaskier was dead that could mean the doppler was too, and if the town knows about Jaskier then they would certainly know about the weird Witcher who pitched up a cosy life with a wandering bard.

He stepped up to the man and steadied him. Turning him around to face Geralt. The man’s eyes were clouded over but he mumbled out a slurred _“Cheers son..”_ before he properly focussed on just who was holding him.

The man let out a gasp. His face drained of colour.

He looked like he’d seen a ghost. The man’s heartbeat had picked up, and Geralt could hear it frantically beat louder and louder. His hands gripped tighter on the man as he felt him tense in his hold.

“No… _no.._ you’re dead. They came for you…you’re de _-ad._ ” The man’s eyes were wide as he looked up into the Witcher’s amber ones. Shock had overtaken him. His head was shaking, trying to rid his mind of the image of Geralt.

Geralt sighed. This wouldn’t do. He’d get no sense out of this man like this. He breathed in and focused. His medallion glimmered slightly as he uttered the words for Axii. The man’s eyes clouded over once again, but this time not in a drunken stupor. 

“What happened to the Bard and the Witcher?”

“The famous Bard is dead and his Witcher too. The cottage upon the dreary sea sits abandoned, as the monsters claim it for themselves.” The drunkard says this almost like he is singing a song. Telling a story. It’s confusing but the fear that had settled deep within Geralt only grows wider.

_It is true then. His bard is gone._

“How long ago did this happen?” Is his next demand. He’s angry at himself for not looking for the bard sooner.

“T’was almost six months ago, happened in the dead of night.”

Geralt let out a long sigh. Six months wasn’t that long he supposed and yet,

_Why did he feel like he had failed the bard? Why did he feel like his world was cracking and breaking before him?_

He lent the man against the wall of the tavern then said,

“Thank you. Forget this conversation ever happened and forget you ever saw me.” Then he flashed his eyes once more, and walked away from the man, away from the tavern.

His chest heaved, and his mind was still reeling.

When he gets to Roach, he pats her gently, rests his head against her and breathes in deeply. Grounding himself. He knows where he’s heading next. The monster contract he’d agreed to do can wait.

His mind and heart need peace.

Roach neighs and knocks her large head against his hands. She forces Geralt back into the present. He gently ran his hands through the horse’s hair, nudging her face gently, before pulling away. He looked back up onto the little cottage and really took it all in now.

He notices that weeds have grown all around it. The little garden with the cobbled path from the gate to the front door has nearly disappeared entirely as yellow and white flowers, and green leaves weave their way through the cracks. The grass is standing tall and tangling with the weeds. The windows on the cottage are streaked in marks, the hanging baskets once filled with beautiful colourful flowers now hang limply, the contents inside them having shrivelled and dried. 

It looks sad.

It looks like how Geralt feels.

He breathes in deeply once more, then he’s moving forwards. Pushing open the gate and closing it behind himself. Walking towards the door ready to face this nightmare.

The door pushes open, revealing an empty hallway. It’s dark inside but Geralt’s eyes are able to pick up on the mess and destruction that litters the floor and walls. Deep scratches are gouged into the wallpaper, glass vases shattered on the ground and muddy footprints paint a path towards a door on the right. 

He steps carefully around the mess on the floor, trying not to think about what any of this means. Then he pushes open the second door and his heart stops at the sight.

The once cream coloured carpet that’s placed centrally in what must have been their living room, is almost entirely covered in dark red stains. Geralt does not need his witcher’s magnified senses to realise that what he is staring at is blood. And lots of it. The carpet is ruined. The stains so deep that when he bends down closer and lifts the corner up to reveal the wooden floor underneath, it too is stained. 

The smell coming from the room is pungent and hits the back of Geralt’s throat harshly. His eyes wander around the room and take in the upheaval of the furniture. Pillows and throws are scattered about, some shredded, their downy feathers were strewn about the room, sticking to the bloody surfaces. 

The blood is all dry. The room eerily quiet. 

Geralt stands and surveys the room. Using his senses, he knows a slaughter of some kind happened here. This was no accident. But all he can smell is the doppler and Jaskier. Their house stinks of them both. Covers up nearly all of the other scents and smells. His heart aches because he cannot filter between them. He doesn’t know whose blood it is. Whether it’s the doppler’s or Jaskier’s… _or both._

Too much time has passed. 

Now that his nose and eyes have adjusted to the room and everything else that overwhelmed him, his ears begin to pick up faint noises. He can hear the wind ever so slightly, and the sounds of seagulls hooting in the distance. The very faint sounds of the waves crashing along the seabed. His eyes shoot towards the long windows where the curtains are billowing ever so slightly as if the wind is moving them. 

He steps towards them and realises the large windows are actually glass doors, one left slightly ajar, allowing the sounds of the outside to enter the house and the breeze to filter through. He pushes the curtain aside and his mouth falls open.

A shocked gasp escapes him.

Sat on the wall that trails around the cottage’s small back garden, is a lone figure, staring out at the sea. His back to Geralt, hunched ever so slightly, he seems to blend right in with the dreary sky and muted colours of the landscape around them. 

Geralt’s breath leaves him as his feet stumble forward. Moving him towards the man before his brain even has a chance to catch up. Because Geralt would recognise this person anywhere.

Would recognise even the back of him, perhaps even just a hand or the sight of his hair. 

He _knows_ this man.

His image is permanently etched in his mind. Geralt’s hands reach out, wanting to touch. Wanting to see if this is real and not his imagination. Needing it to be.

He stops walking just as his hand touches a soft wooled shoulder, and then he’s turning the man around, hope filling his mind so much he struggles to find any words to utter. 

The man sitting on the wall jolts at Geralt’s touch, but does not move away from it, he allows himself to be turned and then they are both staring.

Eyes wide. Amber gazing into blue. Neither can move, both struggle to breathe, chests heaving, fingers trembling as Geralt’s hand tries to hold on. He can’t believe he’s touching him. That Jaskier is here. _Alive._

Jaskier’s face was paler than usual, his cheeks slightly sunken, his usual bright cornflower blue eyes dimmed and wet. His lips are slightly cracked and his hair is limp and dirty. But to Geralt, he still looks just as beautiful, just as breathtakingly stunning. He cannot stop staring and doesn’t want to ever take his eyes off this man again.

He thought he’d lost him, lost him for good. Thought that he was going to walk into a house with the corpse of the man he loved rotting away on the floor. 

“I thought you were dead.” Is what comes out of his mouth.

Jaskier huffs out a breath, lip slightly twitching, 

“The rumours are working then,” is his reply.

“Rumours? What- did you start them? On purpose?” Geralt’s confused and slightly hurt, doesn’t understand why Jaskier would start a rumour of his death. _Doesn’t he know how people would hurt from that? Mourn him?_

“Yes. I had to. For my own safety….for my sanity.” Jaskier turns away now, shaking free from Geralt’s hold, turns back around on the wall and faces forward, watching the waves crash and pull back. 

Geralt moves to sit down next to him, hands clutched in his lap. His face must have shown his confusion because Jaskier speaks up again.

“I thought you might come looking for me eventually. So I made sure that the story of what happened here that night, also killed me. Thought if the rumour got out I was dead, you’d leave be. Move on. Not come looking,” then his face is staring back at Geralt’s again, trying to read it, trying to understand why he’s here. Sat right next to him.

“If the past few years are anything to go by, I don’t think I could ever move on from you,” and the words are meant to comfort maybe, but they seem to break through Jaskier’s mask of indifference. His face crumples and his eyes become wetter as he ducks his face down.

“Only took what twenty-five, twenty-six years for you to realise this?” his voice cracks as it tries to hold back the emotions struggling through.

“Really been that long since I’ve known you huh?” Geralt can’t quite believe how simultaneously short that time is but also how _long_ it feels. Especially the four or so years that Jaskier wasn’t in his life.

“Not that long for you though. Over half my life but it’s just a fraction of yours.”

“Yet you’ve still managed to make one of the biggest impacts.” is his immediate reply. 

Another huff of air, and then Jaskier’s face is looking back out at the sea again, eyes clearer, face set in a sombre grimace. 

“What happened then, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“I guess I do owe you the full story, as you did come all this way to find it,” a quick glance at Geralt’s face and then he’s ploughing on ahead, 

“They knew I would be gone I guess. They must have been watching us for some time because they knew when to break into the cottage. Knew when Ger would be at his most vulnerable. They attacked him straight after he got back from a hunt, the little fuckers _knew_ he’d be weaker, exhausted, and they still sent out their entire pack to cut him down-” he stops himself, his voice still echoing the pain he had felt. Bitter anger and resentment colouring his words.

“Who? Who did this?” Geralt’s entire being lurched at seeing Jaskier so obviously hurt and in pain, is doing his best to control the urge to reach out and pull him close to his chest.

“His own _fucking kin._ The people who brought him into this world felt like it was their job to take him out of it. Couldn’t stand that he had managed to make a home for himself, had found something that wasn’t destruction.” His voice is trembling now, straining to hold back the tears threatening to come pouring out of him.

Geralt reaches a hand out and places it on Jaskier’s knee, grips it tightly and at this, Jaskier looks up at Geralt’s face, tears sliding down his cheeks and places his own hand on top. 

“I’m sorry.” 

A huff, a small smile, he glances away again, “His own family killed him. Tortured him. Left him there. On the ground to rot. I came back to my little cottage and walked straight into a house torn up and destroyed. Had to bury the body myself. Could barely recognise him, his hair was painted red and his clothes were soaked a deep dark brown. His eyes were open but the colour was gone. Faded. _Dead.”_

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, can’t find any words, just squeezes tighter on the bard’s knee, hoping he gets that he’s here, with him right now.

“Do you know what the worst part was?” and Jaskier is turning now, moving his leg slightly up the wall, so that he’s sitting facing Geralt, his hands coming out to press onto the witcher’s thigh.

“The worst part was that for a moment I thought it was you, just for a moment I forgot you were both something else entirely and then I felt worse. Felt guilty because my first thought was you and not him, the man that’s loved me properly for all these years. The man that gave me all he had to give and still my first thought was you. And how in the hell I was going to carry on without you by my side-” he shakes his head in embitterment at himself “-fuck but I really am a horrible, selfish person huh.”

“No. Don’t say that.” Geralt quickly replies. A roughness in his voice as he hurries to explain that Jaskier is anything but that. “You’re not horrible Jaskier. You’re quite literally the opposite, you accepted the doppler for what he was and loved him in spite of his nature. You-”

“How can you say that? I loved him because he was _you!_ I already loved him because of whose body he inhabited. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with the rest of him, especially when he treated me the way I wanted to be treated.” The tears were streaming down his face now, his voice thick with emotion. 

“Does that matter?” 

And Geralt is touching Jaskier’s chin, holding it firmly in his hands. He can’t quite get rid of the wonder and warmth he felt upon hearing those words, knowing although they were shrouded in resentment, they also rung true. Jaskier had loved the doppler _because_ he loved Geralt. 

“You loved him. You chose him. You gave him a life he could only have dreamed of once having…fuck Jaskier, but you gave him a _home.”_

It’s Geralt’s eyes that water now. Because it’s true, he knows what doppler’s are like, knows how the majority of them are full of hatred for many creatures, but most especially humans. Knows that they live in packs until they are old enough to leave and stalk their prey. Mess with human’s lives and wreak havoc, destroying them and enjoying every moment of it. 

So for one doppler to choose the opposite of that? To choose a life full of loving a human being? He must have been special, and he must have loved Jaskier a whole lot. 

This doppler must have been extremely fucking grateful to the bard. Because _gods_ knows Geralt would have been. If he’d been given a home and someone to love and be loved by that person in return? He would have been just as happy if all he’d got was one day. Anything more would have been a cherished gift.

“He would have been happy with any amount of days that you could give him.”

Another puff of air, and a sniffle before, “You sound so sure.” and Jaskier’s eye’s are looking up, his face questioning Geralt’s resolute belief.

Geralt looks back and tries to convey with all the certainty in the world just how much he truly believes what he is saying, “I’m sure because that’s how I would have been thinking.”

At this Jaskier crumples in on himself, his body loosening as his body shudders, letting out little sobs. Geralt can’t stand it any longer. He pulls the bard closer to him. Pulls him into the warmth of his body. Wraps his large arms around the bard’s waist. He thinks the bard feels thinner than usual, a little more brittle and more easily breakable. But it’s still one of the best goddamn hugs of his life. 

_Admittedly,_ he doesn’t hug many people. 

But still, this close contact, this press of each other’s bodies seems to soothe the raging wolf that’s inside him. Quietness down the restless voice in his head. Jaskier relaxes into the hold, lets out the sobs more loudly now. Let’s Geralt push a hand through his hair and stroke him. Soothe him. 

“You’ve been staying here by yourself ever since then?” 

He has to break the silence that has come over them. Needs to know if this is what Jaskier had been doing for all these months. Forcing himself to re-live the pain and the nightmare of his lover’s death.

A nod is all he gets in response, but it breaks Geralt’s heart all the same.

“Do you plan on staying here longer?” 

“I- I don’t know. I didn’t think anyone would come looking for me. I guess- I guess I thought I’d most likely die here too.” Jaskier finally answers. 

“I’m glad you haven’t. I’m glad you’re alive. _Fuck,_ I am so glad you’re still here. And I know I don’t deserve this, deserve you in my life. But now that you’re here? Now that I know you’re alive and well, I don’t think I can leave you. Not unless you tell me to go.” _Not unless you don’t love me anymore,_ he thinks. 

Geralt’s face is pressed into the curve of Jaskier’s shoulder and neck, hands still wound tightly around him. Doesn’t want to let go. And Jaskier’s head is pressed into his chest, Geralt can feel the little tickle on the bare bit of skin his shirt reveals, as Jaskier breathes in and out.

“I never wanted you to in the first place. I never wanted to leave you, I did it because I thought that was what you wanted,”

“I-” and he stutters because Jaskier is right.

At that moment back on the mountain he had wanted to push him away, push anyone away who had managed to get close to him. Hated how emotions in his body had seemed to engulf him, clouded his head and made him make stupid decisions. 

Didn’t want Jaskier to be the reason for why his relationship with Yennefer wasn’t working out. But blamed Jaskier all the same. When really it was all on him, the djinn, the child surprise, the way he held back his emotions and pretended he didn’t have them because it was easier? _Yeah,_ he had wanted someone to blame and someone to put at fault, but it wasn’t what he really believed.

“I am sorry for that. For what I said that day. I meant it at the time but I did not actually believe it. I was wrong and stubborn and I am sorry for the hurt I caused.” 

Jaskier moved in his hold, pushed up and away slightly so he would have a better view of Geralt’s face. He raised an eyebrow at the man, face drawn into a frown, but Geralt could see that the bard was not frowning in anger, but looking for any lie on the witcher’s face. Trying to seek out the truth behind the words. When he realised he could not see any deception, he relaxed.

“All is forgiven,” a smile then, “It was the moment you said it.”

Geralt smiles back, his hand rubbing small circles on the bard’s back, “You forgive me too easily.”

“I know.”

A snort from Geralt and it’s then that he registers the fact he still hasn’t told the bard his true feelings for him. He swallows down lungfuls of air, preparing himself for the words he was about to speak,

“Jaskier, I- I wanted to tell you, to let you know, because this might be my last chance and I need you to know, need you to understand that I-” but he’s cut off as Jaskier’s smile widens at him.

“I know,” a pause then, “I realised after doing some research on Doppler’s. They can’t manifest love like that instantly. The love he had for me, the strength of it? It had to have come from the original source… _you._..he cannot have just manifested it with his magic. So I know, it’s okay you don’t have to say it.”

“I want to say it.” 

Jaskier’s breath stutters as he gazes up at Geralt, eyes widening, his body still, as he waits with bated breath for the words he’s longed to hear from the man he’s loved for well over half his life. 

“Jaskier, you’re the bard that followed me, and trailed after me for years, stayed by my side when many others would have moved on a long time before. Watched me fight and kill, and come back stinking of death and gore. Kept me entertained and offered a voice of distraction when I was getting too stuck in my own head. You chose to be around me and I never could forget that. Only left me when I asked you to,

I don’t know when I fell in love with you. I cannot pinpoint a specific moment. All my memories of you are cloaked in the feeling of love. All I know is that when you walked into my life, my days were brighter, happier full of laughter and when you left it? They were dark and dreary. If it weren’t for Ciri, I think that reputation you made for me would have plummeted. So, _I_ _loved you_ and still do. I always will.”

Geralt’s rambling stops there, and then there’s only silence. Apart from the crash of the waves on the rocky seabed and the whistling of the wind. Both men are silent, there breathing quiet as they both take in the words Geralt had just spoken.

Jaskier wants to say something lighthearted and jokey, something like, _‘I think that’s the most you’ve ever spoken to me before’_ or maybe _‘You bloody better not have ruined that reputation I worked so painstakingly hard for’_ , but he can’t. Geralt’s just laid his heart out bare for him. The least he can do is the same.

“You know I’ll always love you too right? I always have. Never did stop loving you.” 

This seems to bring Geralt back from the slight dip into panic his mind had gone. He grabs a hold of one of Jaskier’s hands and squeezes it. Jaskier smiles brightly at him, threads his fingers through Geralt’s own and squeezes back. The space between them is smaller, their faces mere inches apart. 

It’s easy for Geralt to close the gap.

To press his lips against Jaskier’s own. The world slows down, as his mind focuses on the soft, light pressure of Jaskier returning the kiss. Geralt tilts his head to the left, smiles into the kiss as Jaskier presses his tongue to the seam of his mouth.

Geralt almost can’t believe that this is happening. That he’s allowed to kiss the bard. That Jaskier is not only returning it but _deepening it._

This kiss goes on for a few more moments before Jaskier pulls back. His cheeks are slightly flushed, some colour finally reappearing on his pale face, and his smile is everything. It steals Geralt’s breath right out of him, and he cannot help the little laugh that comes out.

“Do you want to go on another adventure with me?” Geralt asks. Hopes that the answer is _yes._

Jaskier’s eyes sparkle as they turn away, to look back out onto the sea, he leans into Geralt and his weight, leans his head on the witcher’s shoulder and breathes out, 

“Yes. I’d love to.”

Geralt’s smile grows wider. He turns himself to face the sea too, hand still clutching the bard’s. Their clasped grip resting in the gap between their thighs, their shoulders touch, and Geralt kisses Jaskier’s forehead, breathes in the sweet, oaky scent of him, relishes in the pang of remembrance it brings back. 

They sit like that. On the stone cottage’s wall and watches as the tide comes in. Watches the waves crash and fall back, lapping up the sand and crowding closer to the two still figures.

In the distance, a small yellow buttercup grows on a patch of slightly raised ground.

It sways in the wind, 

finally at peace with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap, guys.
> 
> Cheers for the kudos and comments and all the love.
> 
> I am sending it back to you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading,  
> Also a big thank you to the tumblr community, I owe it all to you that I am even writing and uploading fics. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos make me wanna write more, this ain't a joke, ily forever.


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